


do you remember the end of the world

by kindlingchild



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Finale, Spoilers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 01:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlingchild/pseuds/kindlingchild
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley finally take that trip to Alpha Centauri.





	do you remember the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

> i finished good omens on the plane and i wrote this straight after because i am gay and unstoppable
> 
> enjoy! x

The sunlight shining through the coffee shop window hits Aziraphale's face perfectly; golden flecks hidden within pale white strands of soft short hair, an entire universe behind the pale blue skies of his eyes, and Crowley hears something about books and the angel is absolutely _beaming_ as he rambles, and the sunlight isn't making his already ethereal form look any less beautiful.

The coffee is far too bitter for his taste (surprisingly he prefers his coffee with two sugars instead of none— him, a demon, with sugar in his coffee?) so he pushes off to the side and moves to take a sip of Aziraphale's, who's far too engrossed in his book rambling to even notice. Crowley presses his lips to the rim of the porcelain cup and the lukewarm liquid slides down his throat— Aziraphale likes four sugars in his coffee, but Crowley rather take two too many than two too little.

"Your coffee is going to give someone diabetes," Crowley gags as he drops the cup, the porcelain clanging against the plate, but the cafe is bustling enough for no one to notice the sudden sound. Aziraphale finally snaps out of his rambling and the spark in his eyes seems to dim (he always gets a spark when he chats about things he loves), but his smile is ever-present.

"You've just gone and drank it though, Crowley," Aziraphale smiles softly, and something tugs at Crowley's heart (or wherever it's supposed to be, he'd heard Aziraphale talk of mortal anatomy once but he wasn't quite listening, watching the angel excitedly talk had been much more amusing).  "The demon who puts sugar in his tea. What a tale!"

Crowley can't help but laugh, because yes— he is a demon who puts sugar in his tea. He's a demon who visits a dusty old bookshop every other weekday and eats pastries with his closest companion on weekends, and if they're feeling really fancy, Aziraphale suggests high tea. He's a demon who is no longer watched by hell, and he is a demon who's best friend is an angel, and all they've ever known is eachother.

"And you, you've started drinking black tea, haven't you? Instead of your oddly posh lavender or what not," Crowley flicks a wrist towards Aziraphale, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, and through his sunglasses he can see Aziraphale's pale blue eyes soften. "Chamomile or rose or botany bullshit."

"Am I not allowed to indulge in a bit of caffienated tea every now and again?" Aziraphale laughs and it may have been six thousand years but the sound still sends Crowley into a whirlwind of odd emotions that stir and bubble within him, bursts of warmth sputtering wildly in his hollow chest cavity, and the warmth is always infectious as it curls the corners of his lips up into a small smile.

"Say… I never did end up going to Alpha Centauri, did I?" Crowley leans back in his chair, right leg crossing over left as he speaks softly. Aziraphale casts him a curious glance— Crowley recognises it, it means _go on, I'm listening,_ unlike his other glances (example: _what in the world are you talking about, what on earth do you mean, I love listening to you_ )— and the demon's smile grows a tiny bit wider.

"No… You didn't," Aziraphale cocks his head a little to the left and it drives Crowley insane, because he feels his heart speed up and his eyes are glancing at the angel's lips _(heavenly, six thousand years and they still look pink as ever)_ and suddenly Crowley's grabbing Aziraphale's cup and swallowing down the last drips of overly sweet coffee before grinning wickedly at his best friend and snapping his fingers.

 

* * *

 

_Crowley isn't sure if it's night or day because he hasn't so much as moved from his bed in four weeks, and he has at least sixty missed calls from a certain angel that he owes the world to._

_He flops over, the sheets sliding off his body as if they were slicked with dirt and grime, and his fingers are two inches away from his phone when he hears his door open and senses a familiar angelic presence._

_"Aziraphale?" He calls out, and moments later the door to his room bursts open, and his best friend stands alone with a frown on his face. Crowley realises he's in trouble._

_"You— I—" Aziraphale's face turns redder by the second and his hands gesture wildly, and part of Crowley wants to reach out and capture the angel's hands in between his own and kiss every inch of Aziraphale's face to see how red his mortal form can turn, how flustered he can get, "I've been so worried, Crowley! What in the world have you been doing?"_

_"Nothing, evidently," Crowley runs a hand through his mop of greasy hair (it desperately needs a trim) and rubs his eyes wearily, because every other century he gets hit with an episode like this._

_It's a familiar pattern now— go around spreading mischief and discord and blending into society— but it always comes to a point where he asks himself what the point is. They reap and sow discontent and chaos and when Armageddon comes, they fight and destroy all they sought to build._

_Furthermore, when Armageddon comes, either he or Aziraphale will prevail. He doesn't want to think about a world without Aziraphale in it. Aziraphale's been there since the start. A world without Aziraphale isn't a world at all._

_Upon rolling back over in his bed, he hears a soft sigh come from the angel behind him, and suddenly there's a dip in the bed and an arm wraps around him and a chest presses into his back._

_This happens sometimes, but they don't talk about it. They never do. But more often than not, actions transcend words, and they don't need words to tell each other exactly why they find comfort in the other._

_Suddenly it smells like vanilla and rose, there's a hint of lavender and chamomile (Aziraphale only drinks those teas, he says they're soothing) and it smells safe, comforting— it smells like home._

_"This century's round at you, I suppose?" Aziraphale whispers softly into the crook of Crowley's neck, and a part of Crowley wants to bawl his eyes out right then and there. There's tears brimming his eyes and he feels his lungs constrict, because he hates how pathetic he gets during these slumps._

_"I s-suppose," he stutters, and he bites down on his lip so hard he bleeds. Demons don't stutter._

_"They're not watching," Aziraphale's voice is gentle and calming as it always is, and Crowley doesn't even have to look at the angel to know he's smiling as sweetly as he can, "Cry all you want. It's okay."_

_He turns around in Aziraphale's arms and the minute he gazes into the angel's pale blue eyes, something within him bursts and he cries for what feels like a millenia._

_"Let's go somewhere for a vacation after all this," Aziraphale cards his fingers through Crowley's hair as the demon sniffs softly in his arms, head pressed against his chest. "Armageddon will come, but… You know, maybe one side doesn't have to win."_

_"V-Vacation?" Crowley's voice breaks as he looks up, eyes red and puffy, and he looks like a small lost child who just wants to find his way home._

_"Yeah, vacation," Aziraphale pulls him closer, buries his nose in Crowley's hair. The demon smells like ash and soot and alcohol, but after so many years, Aziraphale's learned to love the scent. "Maybe… Outer space or something. I've always loved the stars."_

_"Of course you do," Crowley laughs softly (it's a broken laugh, fragile and scared and lost and shaky) and he buries his face in the fabric of Aziraphale's shirt. It's cotton, so it's soft and warm (much like the angel himself). "Maybe one day, angel. Maybe one day."_

 

* * *

 

The ground is cold beneath the soles of his worn-out leather shoes and he stretches out his wings. The planet's rock is a pale pink and it is, in fact, rather pretty.

He looks around for Aziraphale and finds the angel standing a few metres away, a bewildered look on his face as he cranes his neck to stare up at the sky. His wings are out too, large and long and white and ethereal, just like him. _Ethereal._

He walks over to the angel (he'd seen humans walk on different planets where they bounce around like basketballs, but no amount of physics would ever apply to supernatural entities such as themselves) and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he looks up at the sky to see what Aziraphale seemed so entranced by.

Crowley finally understands why Aziraphale loves the stars.

The expanse of the universe is vast and dark and ultimately terrifying, but among the endless darkness there are millions and millions of tiny lights, bursting with hope. They emit a sense of nostalgia and safety and comfort and warmth— and Crowley, too, finds himself taken by their beauty.

Logically he knows they are but burning balls of gas destined to explode; but somehow he finds that even more intriguing. In all his years of existence, beauty is always said to be timeless. Even if stars explode, a part of them will always float through space, no matter how small the particle may be.

He snaps back to his senses a few moments later when he feels someone staring, and he turns his head only to see Aziraphale quickly turning away from him. He catches sight of a slight pink haze over the angel's cheeks, and something in him caramelises.

Crowley slides off his sunglasses and puts them into his pocket, and then wraps his right wing around the angel. It's black against white, a stark contrast, yet they go so, so well together.

"Y'know, we've never actually…" Crowley scrunches his nose, running a hand through his hair, "Kissed."

"Hm?" Aziraphale isn't looking at him, yet the demon knows he's listening to every syllable of his every word, because less than a second later there's a white wing wrapping around his left side and a hand slipping into his, fingers intertwining. Aziraphale's palm is callused from the endless writing and reading and Crowley is familiar with every line on his palm.

"We've hugged— sure— spooned, definitely," Crowley rubs the back of his neck, because for the first time in years he's not under the surveilance of demons and Aziraphale isn't under the surveilance of angels— because they would definitely know if an angel and a demon kissed. It would be two worlds colliding in ways they shouldn't; a love forbidden and lovers punished.

But now they're free _(choose your faces wisely)_ and Crowley can finally, _finally_ call Aziraphale his

It's been a game of chess since the start of time— hiding intm the shadows where their head offices cannot track them, legs entangled as they bask in each other's warmth and remind themselves that they are not alone. They are eachother's best friend but they are also much more; they are an unstoppable duo, partners in crime— _lovers_ , if they dared.

Hours spent simply laying in each other's embrace, lips not touching and no more than their outermost layer of clothing removed; because the head offices would surely find out but also because they didn't need much more to feel loved. They knew. They always knew.

However, as Crowley cups Aziraphale's face with his free hand, thumb tracing over the angel's cheek as the two of them stand alone on the surface of Alpha Centauri with wings wrapped around each other and fingers intertwined and the space between them closing slowly— Crowley supposes a little reinforcement wouldn't hurt.

Aziraphale meets him in the middle _(always does, no matter what)_ and it's the thirty-seventh day since the end of the world when two forbidden sides meet and experience complete and utter bliss.

It's soft and gentle and slow because they move at each other's pace, and Crowley wants to burn the memory of Aziraphale's lips into the core of his mind, because the angel's lips are impossibly soft and warm and when Crowley slides his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth, he tastes vanilla and strawberries.

Crowley feels Aziraphale's arms slide around his waist and pull him closer, _closer,_ and Crowley's wings flutter shakily in response, because he's losing himself in the feeling of unconditional love and he thinks he might melt. Maybe love is too good; it melts demons like holy water does because it's an emotion of the Almighty.

It's been six thousand years in the making.

Crowley begins trembling in Aziraphale's arms and he finds that he can't breathe— but it's different now. There's a grin stretched across his face that he can't get rid off and there are tears streaming down his cheeks and he's laughing and laughing but it's not broken; it's whole and kind and disgustingly in love.

They pull apart and Aziraphale smiles at him with the same dopey smile he's given Crowley the past six hundred years— in Eden, in Rome, Paris, the like. It's a smile that grounds Crowley in ways unimaginable.

"I love you" is a promise that Crowley never understood the gravity of until Aziraphale is whispering it with the softest look in his eyes and _Heaven's sake, he's looking straight at me—_ and Crowley isn't sure he can make it off Alpha Centauri without turning into putty in the angel's arms.

It hits him all at once; that he can't imagine a world without Aziraphale in it because Aziraphale _is_ his world. Aziraphale is all he's ever known. The world may change and shift and war may break out and humans come and go but Aziraphale's been there since the start, tender smile,kind eyes, silky white hair and all.

Aziraphale looks like the stars in the sky and the moon at night and the entire universe all at once, and he's Crowley's.

_Finally, he's mine._

_(I've always been yours, silly demon.)_

 

**Author's Note:**

> @kitaguwu on tumblr if you wanna yell w me!!
> 
> thank you for reading!! kudos and comments are super super appreciated too x


End file.
